


yours, always.

by trippingtozier



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Ugh whatever, goodnight streaks, i just wanted to be dramatic HSJANDG, i rly need to stop writing fics where the reader rushes to spencer in the rain, k but, kind of?, miss girl stop watching pride & prejudice, the angst rly isn't bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trippingtozier/pseuds/trippingtozier
Summary: He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.He settles on, “You were too good for him anyway.”Girls liked to hear that, right?“Fuck off, Spence.”Apparently not.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 114





	yours, always.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to live in Spencer's apartment so bad.... maybe that's why I'm always making fics take place there KJSAJDNHHDA 
> 
> I usually post on Fridays or Staurdays but inspiration hit me out of nowhere :)

It’s half past midnight and storming when someone knocks on Spencer’s door. 

Two raps, short and hollow. 

The rain is so loud, and Spencer is so content not to move, so he convinces himself that there’s no one outside his door at this ungodly hour. He doesn’t move from where he’s strewn out on his sofa, books and papers tossed haphazardly around himself. He lets the crackle from the abandoned record player spinning aimlessly lull him back to his words and poems and numbers.

There’s another knock, a single tap, before whoever is outside the door gives up on being courteous and starts pounding. 

Spencer’s head snaps up so quickly his neck twists in an almost painful manner. 

The fact that someone’s standing outside of his smaller-than-a-shoebox apartment at twelve a.m. - and the fact that they seem to be getting increasingly more impatient - worries him. It worries him enough to stand up and retrieve his gun before wrenching the door open. 

All of his worries melt away in an instant. The string of colorful threats he has on the tip of his tongue are dissolved. He puts the safety back on his gun and tosses it to the side. 

“Can I come in?” You ask, teeth chattering. You’re soaked to the bone, nothing but a pair of dripping sweatpants and an over-sized flannel clinging to your small shoulders. All the statistics about the risk of illness from wearing wet clothes for too long drown out Spencer’s previous thoughts. 

“Are you alright?”

You don’t say anything in response. No, “Yeah, I’m obviously fine, Spence. Just took an impromptu jog and ended up here,” or “I think you know the fucking answer. Don’t ask stupid questions,”. You just stand, dripping, in Spencer’s doorway, looking down at your feet. Spencer pulls you inside, so quickly you stumble into his chest. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, worried about getting you out of your wet clothes and stopping the tremors that wrack your body.

 _Shivers,_ he thinks. _Need to stop the shivers._

“What are you doing here?” He asks. “How did you get here?”

You live on the other side of the highway, and it’s not looking like you have your car keys with you. Spencer knows off the top of his head that it’s a sixty-four minute, twenty-nine second walk between your apartment and his. 

You look up at him - tears or rain rolling down your face, he doesn’t know. “I left Zeke.”

Spencer’s stomach flips. He feels almost giddy, his heart fluttering in his chest.

He knows it’s selfish to feel this way.

“Oh,” is all he says. It’s all he can say without betraying his true thoughts. 

“I just... I left him,” you say, shaking your head as if you can’t believe it. “I couldn’t take it anymore. All the suffocation, and the manipulation, and the stupid fucking male supremacy. He’d always say I was ‘too weak,’ or ‘too delicate’.”

Spencer stays quiet. 

“I work for the fucking FBI but I’m ‘too weak’ to play a game of basketball? It’s just fucking bullshit! Fuck him!”

You start dry-heaving, and Spencer rubs your back in slow circles, waiting for your mind to catch up with your body. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

He settles on, “You were too good for him anyway.”

Girls liked to hear that, right?

“Fuck off, Spence.”

Apparently not. 

He leaves your side to get you a glass of water, extending it to you like a peace offering. You take it cautiously, then down it and gasp dramatically when you’re finished. 

“Did you walk here?” Spencer asks.

You fidget with the cup in your hands until he takes it from you, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. 

“Yeah,” you say in a small voice. “Zeke took my keys.”

“What a piece of shit,” Spencer says, and you look surprised at the venom in his voice. He wishes he could get his hands around Zeke’s neck, but he can’t, so he opts for comforting you. 

_He never deserved you._

“Where are you going?” You call out, sounding like a child about to be abandoned when Spencer walks past you and into his bedroom. 

“I’ll be right back.”

He grabs a worn undershirt and a pair of pajama pants with little jack-o-lanterns on them that he knows will be far too big for you, but will have to do for now. He walks back to you and hands them over. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

He knows you know his apartment by heart, but he guides you anyway, grabbing a clean towel out of the closet before you disappear behind the bathroom door. He waits until he hears the shower running to sigh and sit back down, feeling more conflicted than he has in months.

Before it was easy. You were off limits - he knew better than to get involved in a cheating scandal. Now? Now he doesn’t really know what the rules are. 

Spencer would never wish for you to be unhappy, but he knows how miserable you were with Zeke. He knew from the moment he’d met the guy - all arrogant and self-righteous. He could tell Zeke was the type of guy to feel threatened by your success and try to diminish your self-worth, but Spencer suffered through you being with him without saying a word. He knew the relationship was none of his business.

Still, that didn’t stop him from worrying about you from afar. For twenty-seven months, he watched your light dull without knowing how to brighten you back up. 

But those days were over now. Hopefully.

“I’m done,” you announce, reappearing in Spencer’s living room. 

“That was quick,” he says, surprised. He thought you'd be in there for at least thirty minutes, basking in the heat of the water and combing the tangles from your hair. He knows from previously shared hotel rooms that you’re a water hog. 

“Yeah. I would’ve felt bad taking up both your time and your hot water.”

“Oh.” 

It’s still pouring, and the chill from the cold gusts of wind blowing against the windows are still seeping into his apartment, but Spencer feels so warm basking in your presence. It’s like your glow is coming back already. 

“Fuck, I need to drink something,” you say, abruptly. “I just want to get wasted and forget about Zeke’s stupid pug face.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want? I mean, you have a pretty weak stoma-”

You cut him off with a glare when the word ‘weak’ leaves his mouth and move to mill around his kitchen, dropping to your knees when you find what should be a liquor cabinet. 

“Do you have anything besides liquid sugar, hundred year old gin, and juice boxes?”

“No, sorry,” Spencer says, chuckling softly. 

He sits down on the couch, clearing it of books, lazily watching you. 

“Aha!” You exclaim, triumphantly standing up with a bottle of rosé in your hands. “Finally something that isn’t sickeningly sweet or artificially apple flavored.”

It had been a house-warming gift from Garcia years ago. 

He remembers her pinching his cheeks and declaring, “You’re all grown up now, my beautiful little genius”. 

You don’t bother finding a wine glass, instead gulping it down straight from the bottle. 

“Really?” Spencer asks.

You flip him off, continuing to down it like a starving child being given a bottle, settling next to him on the couch. Spencer rubs circles into your back again, placing soft kisses in your damp hair, until something awful happens.

You start to cry.

“There’s something wrong with me, Spence,” you sob.

“Hey, what are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

“Yes there is!” You try to wipe your eyes with one hand, and drink from the other, but just end up trailing wine down the front of yourself.

He pries the bottle from your hands, pulling you down to lay against him on the couch. You curl up, drowning in self-pity beside Spencer. 

“There has to be something wrong with me,” you repeat. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Spencer wipes the tears as they fall, and you lean into his touch. 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“That’s bullshit, Spence. You’re a genius - you should be able to tell me what’s wrong.” You bury your face in his chest, voice coming out muffled. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. He has access to all my bank info. The apartment is in his name. He has all my stuff.”

 _Why did you come to me?_ Spencer wants to ask, but he holds his tongue.

This whole situation makes his chest tight, like his heart is squeezing together to keep from breaking apart. The reality is that you probably came here because you thought Spencer was smart enough to know what to do. 

“Don’t worry,” he hears himself say. “I don’t mind taking care of you until this gets smoothed out.”

“I didn’t come here for money, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You sound oddly defensive, like Spencer would ever think that of you. “I came because everything I ever had is gone, except for you. You... you’re still mine.”

He’s sure he must have misheard you, but the room is so quiet there’s no way. He could hear a pin drop. 

He can’t remember how to breathe.

“I’ve always been yours,” Spencer whispers, because he’s afraid to break the silence. “Even when you didn’t want me, I was yours.”

You shake in his arms. “Me too,” you say. “Me too, Spence.”

It’s like a dam breaking. His hands are everywhere at once - your face, your hands, your hair, your waist. You just stare up at him, mouth hanging open like you can’t believe this is happening. Spencer can’t believe it either. 

He wants to do a million things at once - he has no idea where to start.

“God, Spence,” you exhale against him, looking up at him with a soft gaze. “I think I’ve always been yours. Always loved you.”

“Yeah?” Spencer says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you reply, your eyes falling to his lips. 

When you kiss him, you’re careful. Not because you’re delicate, but because you’re so afraid of this just being a dream. You kiss him slow and deep, until he’s squirming beneath you like he’s going to jump out of his own skin. 

“You taste like a juice box,” you say.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” you say before pulling him in for another kiss. “I love it.”

“I love you.”

Spencer does.

He really fucking loves you.


End file.
